This Means War
by SafireBlade
Summary: Eric Northman has been ordered by Authority comes to Sunnydale instead of Shervport. Unforchantly Sunnydale is already under the control of both the Slayer and William the bloody.
1. People are Strange, When You're a Strang

I don't own True Blood or Buffy the Vampire Slayer all characters are own by Joss Whedon/Alan Ball.

People are Strange, When You're a Stranger

Chapter One

Spike

Damn Slayer, with her damn bouncy shampoo-commercial hair! Damnthat bloody awful twitch of a smirk on her plump, luscious lips that just screams 'kiss me!' Fuck! Why do I even want her?

The frustrated thought makes me pull some poor bugger's headstone right out of the ground. With one great swish of my duster, I lob the gravestone into the warm, southern California air. It shatters against the ground with a satisfying crunch, dissolving into tiny bits of overpriced gravel. A smile pulls at my lips, momentarily grounding me. Then the bloody Slayer's words swirl in my head once again. 'You're beneath me, Spike.'

Another thrown headstone does nothing to pacify me, so my Doc Martens volley the remains of the granite slab across the rest of Shady Palms Cemetery. Fucking Cecily breaking my bloody heart would be the one part of my story that Slayer sodding listens to. Of course Miss Stick-Up-Her-Arse doesn't read between the lines! Doesn't see that I'm trying to help her. It's just 'you're beneath me' crap! Tears begin to burn my eyes again as my feet trudge through the rows of the dead of Sunnyhell.

No more sodding tears! Time for action. I hang a left towards my crypt, fury propelling me forward. Images of a dead Slayer, bloodied and on the ground, dance in my head to the tune of my laughter. I'm not some bloody ponce anymore; Dru saved me from that. I'm not gonna let some sodding child turn me back in to William the Bloody-Awful Poet!

Every stray rustle of wind in Shady Palms Cemetery seems to dance with the laughter of people long dead. My jaw tics at the all-too-familiar sound. God, I need to kill something! No, not something, someone. The Slayer is in my head again, only this time she's dressed like Cecily on the night I was born. Oh, she's so bloody beautiful with golden hair piled on top of her head in an elaborate French bun while her musical laughter makes me so bloody small... smaller than I've ever been in my entire life. Swirling rage blisters and pops in my head, blocking out all my surroundings. I am essentially walking back home blind. No, blind is the wrong word, clueless might be better.

I think that I must've brassed someone off up there, because this plan, like all my plans in Sunny-Sodding-Hell, turns straight to shit. Before my hand can even rest on the iron knob of the crypt door, I'm drowning in blackness from the charge of an electric cattle prod while a bag is draped over my head. Three fucking master vampires jump me from behind faster than my rattled and dulled senses can register. Why the hell not, that's my sodding unlife in a nutshell.

The only thing I know about my captors are that they're not from around here, and they don't feel like family. They don't have that strong Aurelian vibe. Bugger, should've listened to Darla more when she was tellin' me 'bout the sodding vampire bloodlines. There's something about them that feels... different somehow, like an older bloodline, but fast, much faster than me or my kin.

Wind spirals past us, making me dizzy as the three vampires lug my half-conscious arse across town. The smell of piss and beer, then the sounds of muffled pop-ish, punk music slams me over the head when we finally slow down. Oh bollocks, I'm back at the Bronze. Time to escape. I catch one of the faceless lackeys hard in the nose with my elbow, but neither even breaks their stride despite the mix of cartilage and bone snapping from my poor attempt at escape. I have to say, if I weren't the intended target, I would be impressed by the efficiency.

They push me through an open doorway and down a flight of steps. My captors still haven't taken the sodding bag off my head, but they do release my arms and legs, so I rip it off myself to meet my captors.

Bloody hell, there's only three of them? There are two men here as muscle, and some 1980's football mom. Well, I use the term "man" loosely to describe the pre-teen boy beside the biker bloke. God, the Slayer must have mucked up my head more than I thought if I let three vampires between 100 and 200 get the better of me like that! And when I get a good look, I can see they're obviously those Lilithan vampires, all too pretty, but with no real muscle. Not the sort you typically see around Sunnyhell, 'cept that ponce Dracula. Damn, I'm off my game tonight! It's a fucking embarrassment. Better start saving face and escape.

Coolly, I look around the boiler room under The Bronze for an exit before I attack. It would seem that my only means of escape is back up the stairs, but first I must pass my three captors. Oh, and just look, they've turned the place into a bloody makeshift torture chamber, complete with a waterboarding station that I imagine has holy water in it. Who the hell did I piss off from the Lilithans, anyway?

I don't really have the time to think on the subject; I need to act, so I let my demon out to play, snarling into my game face as my captors surround me. This is just what I needed to get my mind off the Slayer.

I start the conflict with some witty banter. "Okay, so, which one of you candy-arses thought it was a brilliant idea to abduct me? 'Cause I want to kill them first." It's not one of my best jeers, but I'm still reeling from the slayer's rejection, not to mention the cattle prod, and I want to fight.

The football mom answers me. "Don't try it, William. I don't feel like risking a broken nail to beat you down to size." Her voice has that southern twang in it that reminds me of New Orleans during Carnivale in the 20s. She's not dressed for combat, with her disco-ball sequined high heels and Barbie-barf dress. If it weren't so sodding tacky, it would be something the Slayer might wear on patrol, minus the heels. Those sparkly hooker heels look more like something from Harm's closet.

I pull off a leer that normally makes girls all squishy for me. "So, you then. Well, that's a shame." I let my eyes rake over her curves, biting my lip. "Much rather shag you silly than kill you."

She lifts her nose at me with disgust. "Pity I got to kill you instead."

'

Nope, can't take it anymore. Bloody women! I lash out without thinking, striking out with a wild right hook. She's lacking all California mannerisms, but she's still blonde enough that I can pretend she's the Slayer when I kill her. Lilithans might be faster, but Aurelians have brute strength on our side. When one of my punches or kicks connect with her, I can hear a wonderful chime of snapping bone under my fist. A few well-placed punches and I'll have her down for the count. Sadly, she dodges well enough to keep my head spinning.

Despite the silly bint's dancing dodge, I score enough hits to slow her down, and in just a minute or two, Football Mom is pinned to the ground beneath me. I've even got a stake over her heart, liberated from the handle of a push broom and ready to go. However, in my eagerness to attack, I've forgotten about the two other lackeys. Dammit! The muscle and the boy jump me again! How in the bloody hell do I keep letting them do that? The muscle of the group grabs me from behind, and I toss him off easily, though not without losing my stake in the scrum. There's a clear path to the stairs, but I am stopped by that scrawny preadolescent bugger, who suddenly feels much older than his fair and youthful face would suggest. I leap over him, but quicker than I'd have thought him able, he grabs my ankle and tosses me to the ground.

Nursing a few more bruises to my ego, I mutter, "Well, that's not right!" as I smoothly get back to my feet. I backhand him hard across the face and send him flying to the back wall. He's quick, I'll give him that, and recovers in time to rush me just as Muscles and Mom have gotten back to their feet. They attack all at once and I am brought to my knees.

Mommy-Bloody-Dearest rips off my duster and puts it on over that tacky-arse dress. I snarl at her. "I'm gonna say this once. Take. Off. My. Duster. Cunt." This night really fucking sucks. I'm gonna kill this bitch!

The cunt circles me like a cat with a mouse. "You know, it's not my normal style, but I think I like it," she purrs. I love it when they get cocky. It makes killing them all the more fun.

Then the cunt kicks me in the sodding ribs for good measure before her lackeys strap me down to a table with thick silver chains. Not that silver makes a bit of difference to me, but the Lilithans' hands blister from the contact. Not much for strategy, this gang. A loud creak from the staircase in the corner pulls my focus to the arrival of the man in charge. The bloke is Scandinavian and has that touch of ancientness about him that screams power. I know him instantly; the cool-drink-of-water eyes paired with a shit-eating grin gives him away.

Bloody Hell! Eric-Fucking-Northman. As in "sired by I-am-the-angel-of-fuckin-death, Godric" Eric Northman. Typically I don't bother with knowing the backstories of other vampires unless they directly affect me, but as a rule I like to keep up with the ones that have managed to make it to a thousand. Gotta know who not to cross and all that rot. And let's face it, Eric Northman is on that do-not-cross list. I'm screwed.

Well Dru, I'll see you in hell.

Bleeding wonderful. Who could dear ol' Eric have on his arm? Yes, there you are, Harm. At least for the first time in your unlife you have your bloody gob shut. Oddly enough, seeing Harmony on the arm of that Viking oaf gives me an extra shot of courage. If I'm gonna die, I'm not gonna go out like a sodding whipped dog, not with my most regrettable choice of bedwarmers staring at me the whole time. Nope. I gotta at least try to escape. First, I need a plan. God, this pillock is as large as the statue of the Farnese Hercules I saw that time in Naples! I wonder if he's got the same teeny willy. Poor Harm.

Eric addresses me coolly. "Mr. Pratt, have you been mistreating my progeny, Pam?" He gestures to the swollen, smirking face of the cunt who's still wearing my sodding duster.

I look around for a second, comically pretending to search for someone else. "Who, me?" I smirk. "Of course I did! But she started it. What civilized pack of vampires jumps a bloke on his way home from a night of drinking?" My tone is annoyed and belligerent, which I like a damn sight better than "helpless and terrified."

In response, Eric gropes Harmony suggestively, even going as far as to stick his large hands down her low-rider jeans. It's a bad attempt to bring my demon's possessive nature to the forefront so that I'll do somethin stupid. It's not going to work.

'Got the wrong bird for that, Northman,' I chuckle to myself. Now, if he had Dru or Buffy, hell, my demon would be snarling and ripping through these bloody chains. No, wait, I don't give a toss about the slayer. For all I care, the bloody frost giant could be grinding his pelvis into the Slayer's perfectly bitable arse while his large marble hands cup her... Bollocks! I can't stop the low vibrating growl that is busily climbing from my chest at my own traitorous train of thought. A devilish grin pulls at the corner of Eric's lips as he gets the entirely wrong idea.

Slowly and seductively, Eric's mouth slides and nibbles down Harmony's neck, even as his eyes stay locked on mine. "Do you know who I am?" Harmony makes a little noise, that gasping mewl that's so much more interesting than any words she's ever spoken, as the scent of her arousal wafts from between her legs.

Okay, maybe it screws with my manly pride that another man can get the bird I've been shagging wet so fast. Distracted by the scent, I've missed the bloody question. "Uh?" I reply.

Eric smirks, looking like I just did what he wanted. Which is fair, much as I hate to admit it. "I said, do you know who I am?"

I play dumb. His ego is huge, maybe if I wound it, he'll do something he'll regret. "Sorry mate, got no idea. Ya' must not be as infamous as you think."

He narrows those icicle eyes at me, and I suddenly feel cold for the first time since being turned. A low growls rumbles from his chest. "We're both too old to play games, Mr. Pratt."

I heave a dramatic sigh and make a great production of trying to place his face with a name. I can feel Eric's temper, well, spiking the more I pussy-foot around. The delivery of this next line is important, so I deadpan. "Oh yeah, you're that melodramatic, 'angel-of-death' bugger's pantywaist of a Progeny, right? Eric Something-or-Other?" I beam at him, looking as though I expect to be rewarded for my recollection.

My crude description is enough to throw the Viking off his target. In a whirl of motion, Harmony is tossed into Pam's surprised arms and I've been wrenched from the table, chains still holding me hostage. His voice is a low hiss. "You overplayed your hand, boy."

It's at this point I begin to see the error in my plan. Pissing off a vampire ten times your age is bloody stupid. Fuck, he's fuming. Well, he can't be any worse than Angelus... Eric dunks my head into the trough of holy water.

I kick and flail against my chains with frantic violence as smoke billows from the trough and the water begins eating through my skin. A scream wants to come tumbling out, but if I swallow any of the water, I could dust. My fledgling years have prepared me well for this treatment, though.. I can push past the pain, up to a point.

Before I can dissolve completely, Eric pulls me out. I suck air through my ruined trachea with a noise like a wet bellows, then burst out laughing. The manic sound bounces off pipes and walls, scaring Muscles and the boy. They back away from the scene, but don't leave the area. Chunks of my skin are still peeling and dripping from my face, making the cool air from the ceiling vents burn like another holy bath.

I curl my tongue lewdly behind my teeth while my laughter dies, replacing it with the most arrogant leer I can manage without having any lips to speak of. "Oh baby, do it again, it tickles." I rasp through my healing injuries. Bloody hell, I sound every one of my 126 years right now. "Sorry mate, you're gonna have to kick up a notch."

I wear my cocky smirk like a second armor, concealing the agony of the burns. It's all bravado, and Eric knows it. I can see it in his icy eyes. "Watch your tongue, boy. You have assaulted my progeny, and insulted both myself and my maker. You're fortunate that my respect for your considerable skills in battle keeps you from the true death. But it doesn't save you completely from punishment. So, I'll give you a choice. Do I kill your latest lover, or your Slayer?"

I freeze for a moment, going still inside my own head like a rabbit when the hawk flies above. Why did he say Slayer? Out of all the people he could have said, why did he name Buffy? What does he know about she and I? I can see Harmony smirking now, standing a little straighter in Pam's arms. Bloody hell, she thinks that I'm going to get us both out of this alive, despite her little porn-show act with Eric. And maybe I could, if I wanted to, if I were willing to throw Buffy to the wolves to do so. Slayer's strong, she can handle herself, or so she always claims. After all, aren't I beneath her? Eric would be doing me a sodding favor if he did kill the bitch!

Still, I can't bring myself to tell him to kill her. Instead I deflect, my voice a little stronger as my larynx begins to mend. "You could certainly try to kill the slayer, would be no skin off my back if you did. But I got to tell you, plenty of would-be badarses come to Sunnydale, and most of them wind up with mysteriously Slayer-shaped causes of death."

Bugger, that did not come off nearly as indifferent as I'd intended. It sounded a lot closer to admiration, perverse though it might be. Bloody hell, could I sound like more of a ponce? Eric is looking at me oddly, and I suspect I couldn't have been more obvious in my affections if I'd come out and said 'Please Mr. Northman, I love the soddin' Slayer. Leave her out of whatever this is!'

I make my voice colder, and put a snarl in my voice to match the sneer on my lips as I say, "So go ahead then, kill the bitch if you can. Just make sure I get a seat."

Eric bites his lower lip in a boyish expression of pretending to think it over. I can see the wheels in his head turning as he dissects my challenge. Finally he pulls me close and purrs into my ear. "You don't think that I could kill one little girl? How hard could it be, with her already injured?"

Shit, again. How didn't I know he was watching us? How long has he been here? When this is done, I am going to have a serious, probably very violent discussion with Willy about keeping information from me. Just because I can't hurt him doesn't keep his bar safe.

Eric's voice rumbles against my neck, all thick and seductively predatory, painting a picture of his plans for my slayer. "All I would need to do is go to her house and glamour her mother into inviting me in. Perhaps I wouldn't even need to glamour her. After all, I've always been good with women. I normally don't eat older women, but Mrs. Summers is quite handsome for her age, so I might be willing to make an exception."

My demon growls, and my eyes flash amber. But Eric goes on, turning his attentions to my Nibblet. "Then there's the sweet little sister. I find virgins especially compelling, so innocent and guileless, so frightened. Perhaps I'll make her beg for it. I bet I can make her scream; I can always make the virgins scream my name." Words sit uselessly in the back of my throat. I need to keep my demon in check as it tries to claw its way through my chest like the worm in that Alien movie. Eric feels the struggle and pushes harder, his voice like honey. "And then finally, our sweet slayer comes home from her romp with Mr. Iowa."

A boyish smile lights his whole face, one that could make the most chaste girl drop her panties. "It must chafe that after spending the night with you, she goes to that handsome soldier boy for some warmer comfort. Does it bother you that she seems to prefer men so much larger than you? If I chose to, I could glamour her before she has a chance to react. Probably before she realizes she's in danger. I doubt she has much practice in killing my kind."

Eric makes an exaggerated moue of thoughtfulness. "Tell me, Mr. Pratt, are the rumors true about Slayer's blood? I hear it's a potent aphrodisiac. She's certainly fuckable either way. And she does seem to have a yen for vampires, despite truly deplorable taste. I bet I can get between those dimpled knees without glamoring her. She won't even beg me to stop. Is she nice and tight?"

He licks his lips, his eyes boring into mine. "I imagine she's tight... all those Chosen One muscles, in the most interesting places. And staying power like a bad pop song. Fuck, I won't even need to be gentle with her. I wonder how long I could make her last? Weeks, I imagine. But don't worry, I'll make sure you get your front row seat. I'll bring her down here so you can watch me fuck her and drink from her until I get bored. Then I'll kill her." He purrs into my ear like a lover. "That's all right with you, isn't it? Kill the Slayer, save your twit of a lover?"

It's a head game. He's trying to get my goat, see what's really important to me. Reacting would show weakness. I know this, but the demon inside me doesn't give a good goddamn. It's too riled up with images of Niblet and Joyce broken and bloodied by the lumbering Frost Git, to say nothing of its startlingly possessive frothing about Buffy. And by the time Eric is finished with his twisted little bedtime story, the rest of me has come around to the demon's side of things.

"No!" I shout through fangs. "They're off limits!" Wildly I kick both my feet out, sending him flying backwards. Northman drops me with a thump. I attempt to wriggle from the fastened chains and manage to get one leg free while Muscles and the boy are still scratching their balls. I head for the unblocked exit, but suddenly Northman is on me again, ungodly fast, smashing me against the concrete wall. At least I'm not defenseless anymore. I swing my leg in a roundhouse kick, hoping to slash him with the silver chain still dangling from it. It connects with a sizzle and a hiss from Northman, driving him back, giving me a moment to regroup and let my sanity catch up with my rage.

"Who in the bloody hell keeps the one of the few things that can kill them on hand?" I taunt as I fall back, finally freeing my arms from their bonds. A bit glib, perhaps, but what the hell? It's time for some fun.

I wrap the silver chains around my knuckles, game-faced and all but hissing as I prepare for a fight. Eric laughs as he watches me, which my demon doesn't appreciate at all. I lunge for him, and then it's all over and I'm on my knees before I fucking know what happened. Fucking Lilithans and that sodding super speed! Not satisfied with superhuman strength, speed and agility, not them! Have to be all with the faster-than-the-speed-of-sound bollocks! I resolutely shove the demon back into its place and try to start planning again, promising it mayhem later.

Northman grins down at me while Muscles holds me in place. I could break free if I wanted to. Muscles isn't that strong, and he's got the brain of a ball-busted steer, but timing is everything. I haven't got many chances left, and I don't want to make my move before I have a clear way out. I'll give anything to wipe that smug look from that gits face, I think, even as I make my own expression as blank as possible.

"You are brave, Mr. Pratt," Eric allows. If I were human, my neck would have a crick from looking up at him. "It would be admirable, if you weren't such a cliche. A small threat to the woman you clearly want to get your fangs into, and here's William the Bloody, ready to fight to the death to save her day. Does she even realize the hold she has on you?"

I thrash and snarl, demon's not easy to pacify right now. "Leave the Slayer and her family out of this."

He chuckles. "You're hardly in a position to bargain, Pratt. I could order Rosco over there to pour gasoline on you so Charlie could roast marshmallows and there's not a goddamn thing you could do about it." Rosco, who turns out to be the boy, looks like he is desperate for a chance to do just that, and is obviously disappointed when Eric continues. "But I will give you this. I have no intention of going after the Slayer's family. Family is personal, and this is strictly business. For too long the Hellmouth has run wild, and it's putting the future of vampires at risk. If we want to be able to live among the humans, we can't have feral vampires like your lot massacring them by the houseful when you get hungry, or starting apocalypses when you're feeling bored. This place needs to be brought to heel, and I'm going to do that with or without you and your Slayer."

The taste of foreboding is on my tongue. He's not the Big Bad here. He's here on behalf of someone higher up the food chain, and his presence here so soon after ol' Drac's visit isn't coincidence. His speechifying makes me more certain. "Despite what happened here tonight, I don't want you dead. You could be a valuable asset, but I will not tolerate insolence among my subordinates. This one time, your slate is wiped clean." He looks at Pam and nods. Pam makes one quick motion, and Harmony vanishes into dust.

Fuck.


	2. Mr Blue Eyes

Mr. Blue Eyes

Eric Northman

Chapter Two

Ashes, thick and heavy, fall to the old cement floor, bringing with them a hush that reminds me of the first snowfall of winter. Even the thump of that grueling teenybopper music that has been pouring down from the ceiling has dulled to the point where it is no longer audible.

No one has dared to move; Roscoe is still staring at the ashes, his young jade eyes dumbfounded. It strikes me that the boy has never seen an Aurelian die before. In fact, I believe Mr. Pratt and I are the only ones here with that honor. Even Charlie, with his large meaty hands clasped to Pratt's shoulders, cannot stop staring at the bits of dust that made up the twit. In contrast, Pam... Sweet Pam, clearly my child, is the only one not affected by the dusting of the girl. The tapping toe of her Prada shoe is like a metronome in the silent room, announcing her disdain for the shocked reaction, her demand that someone take action. And her unspoken words are true. Pratt still needs to be handled. His eyes shift between me and the dust beside Pam's shoes. I can tell he wants to strike out. My maker Godric, now coming into his repented phase, warned me about the Aurelians before I came to the Hellmouth. 'The Order of Aurelius is no better than children pulling off butterfly wings for sport. I fear for us all, humans and vampires, if we allow this behavior to persist.' His gentle words echo in my head. And something about that strikes me as funny when I watch the bleached, mutilated vampire staring at me with seething hatred. He's different than most of his kind and I can't tell if that's entirely good or bad. All I know for certain Pratt's human mask has returned with his blue eyes sparkling and mouth set in a thin line. The shift between faces has done away with most of the damage from the holy water. With the ebbing of the demon comes the planning of the man, and that could be dangerous for me. I need to change the tone of the meeting. "I'm sorry it had to come to that, Mr. Pratt." It's not a lie. I didn't want to kill the girl but I needed to see for myself where his loyalty lay. Now I've seen for myself that he's a turncoat. Of course this isn't news. Not really. I saw it earlier tonight when he and the Slayer came into the Bronze, shortly after I bought the place from its human owner. From my place behind the bar, collecting keys, I watched the two warriors trading stories over pool. It was amusing to say the least. Pratt's faux-cockney voice seems absurdly loud in the quiet room, "Bloody hell, could you cool it with the Mr. Pratt bollocks? I haven't been Mr. Pratt in over a hundred years. My name is Spike. You know, the Slayer of Slayers. Scourge of Sodding Europe?" I can't help but roll my eyes. Dear, Mr. Pratt was the Ringo-star of the Scourge of Europe and his killing of Slayers was pretty much like 'I am the Walrus' to the Beatles. Yes, it's a pretty good song but not what the band was known for. Nevertheless, I listen to the bitter bite in his voice as Pratt goes on, "Now for godsakes can you stop with the games and just tell me why I'm here, Northman?"

I understand his confusion. When Nan, a glorified PR agent for the Authority, first ordered me to this pissant town and told me to get the Hellmouth under control, I had laughed and assumed it was a joke. Hellmouth's have always been the Aurelians' territory. Our clans have had a rocky relationship for as long as anyone remembers. And instead of just killing each other we stay out of each other's way. They get the Hellmouths, we get everything else. A perfectly civilized system, if ever there was one. But then fucking Initiative came about and scared the shit out of Roman, the head of the Authority. I can still hear the sniffling coward, 'The world is getting smaller and soon we won't be able to hide in the shadows leaving corpses behind. The Initiative is proof of that. And if we don't find a way to show that vampires aren't monsters, more places like the Initiative will pop up turning us into the hunted. We need to stop killing humans and get the demonic hot spots under control.' Roman, with his fucking vampire unity and working with humans nonsense, has fucked up a perfectly good system. I was more than content staying well away from such nonsense. But after some bad luck with a pretty Italian girl, I've been forced into this idiotic scheme. How was I supposed to know she was the pet of the Immortal? Fucking Immortal!

I digress. Mr. Pratt is trouble and I want him as ash on my basement floor but orders are orders, and Nan made it very clear that I am to play nice with the Slayer of Slayers by offering him a position in the New Hellmouth. Carefully, I play my next move, "I have a job offer for you, Mr. Pratt." I emphasize the Pratt part and watch with amusement as his nostrils flare. Let's be honest: dragging the oaf down here and slapping him around is not the way to make allies. I don't want Mr. Pratt as an ally. He's too much of a risk to keep alive. Giving him any power in my regime is just asking him to put a knife in my back. Hell, he betrayed his grandsire and sire, the Anointed One, and the Slayer. Everyone he's ever worked with he's betrayed. Not that I can really blame him for the Anointed One or the Slayer but you don't fuck with family. However, I can't kill him; the Scourge of Europe is still something that most vampires, no matter what clan, hold in high regard. Killing one of the members will not only piss off the other two, but all the Aurelians around the Hellmouth, and a few Lilithans in the process, despite him being a turncoat. There's also the Slayer angle to consider. For whatever reason, she hasn't dusted him yet, which means something. I don't pretend to know what that something might be but it can't be mercy. Mercy would have been killing the son of a bitch after he got chipped. Forcing him to live off butcher's blood, unable to defend himself from lower beings is cruel. Funny, but cruel is not a typical Slayer thing to do. Which means she and I could have some fun. She can be either a powerful ally or dangerous enemy, depending on my next move.

I watch Pratt's jaw clicks as he sneers at my offer with something he think's must be witty, "Oh, yeah, sure you have a job offer. Cause when I try to employ powerful master vampires, I always make a show of dusting their lovers and threatening their allies. It's a real morale booster." He goes on with a growl, "Let's try it again, minus the condescension and nancy boy smirk. Why am I here?"

A role of my eyes and a chuckle from my chest dismisses Mr. Pratt's comments, "You're entertaining. I'll give you that. But I do have a job suited for a vampire of your considerable influence. I need a liaison between me and the locals. You will be passing down all new laws to the vamps around town and creating a workable truce with the Slayer."

His eyes are two blue pools that swim with every one of his thoughts if you're looking closely. The answer is automatic and predictable. A refusal tumbles off his lips. "You're fucking with me, right? You don't actually think I'm going to help you?" Emphatically scoffs, "Seeing how I have to spell it out for you, take your sodding job and shove it up your arse."

I nod with a knowing smile. "Fair enough. But if you wish to live in this town, you will follow the new laws. The first one is simple: no killing of vampires in my town. Second, there will be a yearly tribute to the Authority. And finally, no more killing humans. Though I suppose that last bit won't be a problem for you, Mr. Pratt. Now, before our business comes to an end, you are going to deliver a message for me. Tell your Slayer about everything that happened here. Spare no details. Most importantly, make sure she knows to meet me at the Bronze at 8 o'clock tomorrow night to discuss her continued existence at the Hellmouth. Tell her this is a peaceful entreaty to discuss terms. I do not wish to harm the Slayer. If she chooses not to show up tomorrow or you don't give her my message, I go after her colleagues until I get her attention."

A smug smile curls on Mr. Pratt's lips, "Right mate, you don't seem to be getting this. You're not coming near the Slayer or her lot." He head butts Charlie before flipping the vampire over his shoulder and yanking off his head. Charlie liquifies into a heap of blood that now covers Mr. Pratt. If the Aurelian vampire is surprised by the difference of our deaths he doesn't give it away. Instead, he's on his feet in an instant rushing toward Roscoe like a mad bull. Pam attempts to slow him down but he tosses her into me. We tumble backward into the trough of holy water. It ruins my new suit and Pam's hair but that's the least of our worries: Roscoe is a puddle of blood on the floor by the time we get to his aid.

Play time is over before he can turn his attention over to Pam. In a blur of motion I've tackled Mr. Pratt to the ground beating him bloody as Pam comes to help. Between the two of us the master vampire becomes nothing more than a pile of broken bones on my floor leaking blood. In my native tongue I order Pam to get Longshadow and Sidney. She nods and with a blur my child is off leaving in a breeze.

I crouch down beside Mr. Pratt my voice low and deadly, "The only reason you're not dead is because of your connection to the Scourge of Europe. You will deliver my message to her and you will leave town by tomorrow night. If you do not, you're dead before sunrise." I really hope he doesn't leave. My fists itch with the need for some pay back.

I roll my shoulders back feeling the muscles pop and relax with the movement. Once more Pratt tries to stand. He really won't give up. It's amusing. Of course, I can't pass up the opportunity to sling one more jab his away. "I see it now. Why you're beneath her. Funny." Pam, Longshadow and Sidney appear at my side. I look to Pam, "Take Mr. Pratt for a smoke by the Slayer's house. And Mr. Pratt, be sure to tell the Slayer I look forward to making her acquaintance tomorrow night at 8 o'clock."

I bid Pratt a fond farewell coolly finding my way back to the club. It's delightfully empty, showing the large windowless space for what it is - a shell that needs a firm hand to mold it. I'll call my day man Joseph to make arrangements with a contractor before interviewing the staff and putting an ad in the paper.

A quick glance to the bar has my feet gliding towards it, only to have my attention pulled elsewhere when three gross smelling elves no bigger than a toddler trail before a slender woman in a red dress. This must be my 3 o'clock, Glory. I smile at my new guest, "Can I offer you a drink, my goddess." For some reason I thought a goddess would have bigger tits and a curve to her hips. No, Glory looks just like every other California girl - pretty in that plastic kinda way. But still, it could be fun getting her into bed. I never had a goddess before, I feel like that's something I should change now that I have the opportunity.

She replies curtly, unwilling to be swayed by my charms, damn. "You can get me my key like your people said over the phone."

Of course Pam said we had the key. Why wouldn't she lie to a hellgod? Fucking Pam. I need to smooth this over, "My associate misinformed you. I don't have your key, presently. However, I can get it on a few conditions."

Glory snorts, "I should rip you limb from limb for lying to me and wasting my time. But you're cute. I like that. So tell me where my key is and we'll see about those conditions." She saunters over to me, placing her hand on my chest. The desire to slap it away is overwhelming and I have to remind myself she's strong and unkillable, so I have to play my cards right.

I grab her hand putting it to my lips before kissing it softly. "You don't live as long as we do by just giving valuable information away to a pretty face. So you tell me about this key and what it does. And I'll see about getting it to you." Letting her think I have the key is probably not my best move but blowing smoke is about all I can do until I get to the Slayer. Perhaps I should've gone to her first and cut Pratt out altogether. What can I say, I wanted to make example of him to the locals. Beating the crap out of the vampire gains me favor from his enemies and puts his allies on guard. Still, that doesn't help me with my hellgod tonight.

Glory jerks away suddenly, taking me aback. At once that delicate hand I was kissing moments ago grabs my throat. "I don't play twenty questions with lower beings no matter how cute they might be. I. Want. My. Key! Do you understand that? Either you have it or you don't. If you have it send your underlings to fetch it. But if you don't, you and me cutie are gonna have a lot more fun. I bet I can peel you like an apple. Get all that pretty ivory skin off in one pull." She has a sneer that could be considered a leer in the right light. Even as she's holding my throat she's trying to be seductive.

I laugh. I can't help it. The only being to get me on my knees has been my maker. Carefully, I explain, "If you do that you'll never get your key from the Slayer. I can get you the key." It's a gamble I'm willing to take. Dracula told me she was easy to thrall.

Brown eyes muddled with madness study me carefully. Her nose scrunches up, "Still don't see why I need you. I can get the Slayer myself and make her talk. Humans are weak." Yet she lets me go.

I back away taking a moment to plan my next move. I give her a smile, "Yeah you could do that. However, Slayers are historically stubborn in regards to their duties. Torture her and you'll get nothing but blood under your nails. I'm willing to bet whatever you need this key for, you have a limited amount of time to use it. Or else we wouldn't be having this discussion."

She sashays over to my bar and sits, "Murk, make me a Martini." Glory offers the seat next to her, "Sit. You and I have terms to discuss."

The tallest of the elves walk around to my bar, pulling out my top shelf stuff. I roll my eyes at the display. I sit by her. My voice is neutral, "My people have an invested interest in keeping the world spinning as it has been for generations. Now this key - it opens something big. What is it?" I mean, it has to be important if a hellgod wants it.

The tallest, Murk, hands her the drink. She sips it thinking about the question, "Dimensions to different realms mostly, but it can open up the time stream too, depending on the stars. In a few months, it will open my dimension and I'll be able to go home."

I study Glory,"When the portal is opened, it will destroy the world." It's not a question. It's the only possible outcome. Damn Hellmouths. Perhaps I should've listened to Pam's council and gone with Shreveport for my punishment.

She teases, "Yeah, unless the key is destroyed after the portal is opened."

Okay, I can work with that, "How do I destroy it?"

She smiles coyly, "That I can't help you with."

Of course she can't, that would only make my job easier, "I'll give you're you the key when we find a way to destroy it."

Glory glares, "I don't like that answer. I will destroy this dimension to get what I want."

I sigh, "Yeah, and if you open the portal this dimension gets destroyed anyway; either way, we lose. So how about this: I'll destroy the key only after you get through the portal. It's a win/win."

Glory nods, "Fine, when the portal opens I'll tell you how to destroy it. Now, get me my key."

Fuck. I'll take it and check with the Authority later. "Alright. Give me a week and I'll get your key."

Glory eyes me too seriously for my liking. She says, "I don't get it. What do you get out of this?"

I shrug, "It's simple really. My job is to keep the Hellmouth quiet. Having you and the Slayer fight over the key makes my job harder. So, my job becomes getting this key and finding a way where everyone gets what they want." It's a simple answer.

Glory sips her drink, "I'll give you a week. If you don't have my key by then, I will use your fangs as earrings." She flips her hair and sashays out of the bar.

This is going to be fun. I lock up the Bronze and make my way to my new home. It's a typical Modern Victorian house with nicrotempered glass in each one of the numerous windows, including the circular cathedral stain glass over the dark mahogany door. Pam must have ordered it when she designed the house. I slide my key into the door and pull it open. A human presence is already in the house. I follow my nose to the living room. Pam has brought home dinner in the form of a long legged Latino with brown eyes that reminds me of that Italian girl that landed me here in the first place. The little Latino nose scrunches in the most delightful way when Pam devours her between her long legs. A gasping moan is heard from Pam's dinner and I clear my throat leaning against the door jam. "Pam, don't tell me we'll need to get the armchair reupholstered already. We just bought that," I tease.

Pam looks up, licking the red off her lips, "I stand by the fact vampires should not get white furniture or carpeting in general." She smooths out her dress before turning to face me. "How did the meeting go?"

I eye the sweaty girl whose large breasts are heaving up and down from her panting breaths. Curtly, I explain, "Not something I feel like talking about in front of the dinner, Pam." I saunter over to the girl offering her my hand, "Though you always know just what to get me. I was craving something spicy tonight." The girl takes my hand and my arms wrap around her pulling her in close before I lower my head to her neck and let my fangs pierce the caramel flesh.

Pam's voice floats in the air as I take in large swallows of the girl's life force. "What can I say, I have an eye for detail."

Just before the girl's heart threatens to slow and stop, I let her go. "She's good. Is she free range or professional?"

Pam answers, "Free range. Not many professionals around here."

I nod, that's something that's going to have to change if we don't want vampires slaughtering households. "Alright then. Send her home in a cab and meet me in my office."

Pam does as I command and ten minutes later she is back in front of me, sitting on my desk filing her nails. At first I am too busy to look over the mess of paper work that explains the inner workings of the town, left over from Wilkins - the last efficient leader of the Hellmouth. "Shit, you were right. Shreveport is looking, better and better." I put down the papers to focus on Pam. "What do we know of the Slayer's team?"

Pam recites, "Let's see, the Slayer's band of merry idiots is unimpressive. Her boy toy is an ex Initiative soldier that gets off on vamp bites and is a possible v-head. Her Watcher has a shady past but nothing interesting to report since the 70s. The dark haired boy that follows the Slayer around is just a human with a habit of picking up demons. He's currently dating Anyanka – an ex-vengeance demon."

I stop her there, "Wait, Anyanka is in this town? I haven't seen her since the Black Plague. And she's dating a human? Weird."

Pam explains, "She's human now."

I nod, "Sad. Send her some flowers for my condolences. Anything else noteworthy with the Slayer's friends?"

Pam shakes her head, "There'r two witches that are pretty cute but I call dibs on them."

I agree, "Alright. You said the soldier gets off on vamp bites and is a possible V-head. You got proof of any of that?"

Pam shrugs, "Yeah, saw him walk into a bite house and his favorite girl told me he drinks her blood from time to time. It's a good way to get turned but so far he's been careful, never letting them bite him if he's doing v, according to this girl."

I ponder this for a few seconds. The information might be my way to eradicate the last of the Initiative presence in my new town with the blessing of the Authority. "Uh, that's interesting but useless right now." Thinking, I dole out my orders for tomorrow, "We can't have bite houses in Sunnydale. Tomorrow, take Longshadow and shut them down. Also, bring me the girl you talked tonight, and the soldier if he's there. If he's not there, send Sidney to keep an eye on him." It's time to call it a night; the pull of the sunrise is making me tired and sloppy.


	3. Fuckin Spidey Senses

Fuckin Spidey Senses

Buffy

Chapter Three

You know what? Sometimes I think the Powers ought to give me a break, just once. I mean, I work for them, right? They don't even pay me, you'd think the least they could do is throw me a bone occasionally. But no. Did someone up there just say, "Yep, that's Buffy Summers down there, let's see how much we can screw with her! Let's give her a fake little sister and a lifetime of screwed-up memories so she can't even tell what's real anymore! And let's have some frizzy-haired superpowered bitch coming after her fake little sister! Let's let her get stabbed with her own stake by a truly embarrassing excuse for a vampire, because that's funny! Oh, and let's maybe give her mom cancer, because that's TOTALLY FAIR AND NOT AT ALL COMPLETELY FUCKED UP. And on top of that, let's have some washed-up Big Bad with Eighties hair tell her she has a death wish! That's a fantastic Slayer benefits package!"

God! I can't even fucking cry. Its not like… it's not like I don't want to. The tears are right there. Just sitting in the back of my throat and building behind my eyes as the wood of the back porch step digs into my thighs. I can feel them, even taste them, but they won't fall. Every year it just gets harder to cry. And I don't know if it's a slayer thing, or a growing up thing, or if maybe I just used them all up. I had plenty to burn on Merrick dying and my dad leaving, and getting expelled for the first really heroic thing I'd ever done. It was hard to cry after the Master killed me and I came back, but I had oceans to shed over Angel turning into a monster and dying and dumping me, all in that order. Maybe I ran out then, or maybe it was thinking about Jenny Calendar, Kendra, Jessie, Larry, all the other people I couldn't save. If I cried about them, I would literally never stop. Maybe it's the general smoking ruin that my life seems to be a lot of the time. Is it possible to use up tears? God am I just so damaged that crying just feels like a waste of time?

In any case, despite the hushed peacefulness of the backyard, Spike is in my head, leaving no room for anything else. Why does he have to be such a dick? "Death is on your heels, baby, and sooner or later it's gonna catch you. And part of you wants it... not only to stop the fear and uncertainty, but because you're just a little bit in love with it." Yeah, because being impaled is something I love to do on any given Saturday!

I can't stand him! He's a jerk. But god, why is he the only one that sees me? "Death is your art," he'd said to me. "You make it with your hands, day after day. That final gasp. That look of peace. Part of you is desperate to know: what's it like? Where does it lead you?" The hell of it is, he's not wrong. I got a glimpse of it when the Master drowned me, but there was so much I still needed to do. Way too much to let me go down that fascinating road, but I haven't forgotten. "Sooner or later, you're gonna want it. And the second- the second that happens, you know I'll be there. I'll slip in, have myself a real good day." He'd leered at me, thrust his hips at me. "Here endeth the lesson. I just wonder if you'll like it as much as she did."

There we were in that dirty alley outside the Bronze, and suddenly I was flashing back to three years ago. When he was the Big Bad with all the knowledge and all the advantages, and I was just a girl, not even seventeen, not even knowing his name. It's not right that he can still do that to me, make me that vulnerable, scared girl again. I fought back, hurt him the only way I can when fists and stakes are off the table. "Say you're right, Spike. It will never be you... You're beneath me." Isn't that just the laugh of the century? Of course it's going to be him. That's why I hate him, because one day he's going to do it, and part of me wants him to.

Whatever Power is intent on ruining my life is obviously working overtime today. All I want is a few quiet minutes for a pity party with my head in my hands, but I can't even get that much. Four distinct vamp signatures are doing the Macarena on the back of my neck. For a second, I wonder what would happen if I just ignored them and let them come, but my mom and sister are just yards away inside the house. "No rest for the Slayer," I mutter while stalking over to the front yard. When one of the signatures grabs my attention, it makes me move just a little faster. It's Spike's, and that can't be good.

By the time I get to the front yard, though, all I see is two blurs and a woman wearing Spike's duster throwing what looks like a flaming, deep-fried Spike through my living room window. Okay, no one screws with Spike besides me, damn it! Before I can go after the bitch, she's off like some teenager that just got caught TP-ing her teacher's house.

The smoke detectors scream through the house. Mom needs to rest and Dawn has school tomorrow. They're both going to flip when they see flambeed Spike in the living room, so my feet carry me inside without thinking. Quickly, I fetch the fire extinguisher from the kitchen and start to put out the flames that were greedily eating Spike little by little.

Footfalls from the staircase in the front foyer barely register in my head. From behind me I hear Mom asking "Who is that, honey?" She doesn't know. God, how could she? There's no cocky smirk or too-human blue eyes. If not for my slayer senses, I wouldn't even know him.

Even still, Mom's voice is gentle and concerned. "Should I call an ambulance?" Her eyes are shifting between Spike and I.

"No... it's Spike. They couldn't help him." My mouth seems to move separately from my mind as I watch the flames die out.

Blood. He needs blood. Do we have blood? Angel was here this summer just for one night while he chased down a demon, but he'd brought supplies. "Do we still have that blood in the freezer?" Finally, I tear my eyes away from the foam-covered Spike on my floor. I focus on Mom; she shouldn't be up, she should be resting for tomorrow.

Yet there she is, racing to the kitchen in mom-mode, suddenly wanting to take care of everyone. "Yeah. I think we do."

The creak of the stairs gives away Dawn's presence, despite her attempt to slip into the living room unnoticed. Now unable to spy, Dawn starts to ask questions in that annoying little sister way. "What happened to Spike?" Her big, baby doll eyes are transfixed by Spike's charred form.

Oh God, he still hasn't moved... is he passed out? How in the hell did he get himself into so much trouble in the two hours we were apart?! A churning in my gut whispers wickedly in my head that somehow I am to blame for Spike's current state. If I hadn't just left him in the alley, maybe whatever did this to him wouldn't have gotten to him. What if this is Glory's handiwork, and she wants to make me squirm? I need answers, which means that I need Spike awake.

Dawn's still looking at me expectantly. Crap, if this is Glory's work, she can't be involved.

"Dawn, go back upstairs." I sound demanding and bitchy even to my own ears. Of course that means Dawn doesn't listen. Okay, when does she ever listen? It's just like that time she followed me and my friends from Hemery to the mall... only that never happened.

Dawn buzzes around Spike like a fly. "Are you sure this is Spike?" She actually seems worried about the bleached menace. Her voice is all wet and weepy, but that could easily be more because of Mom than from Spike's condition.

I gently pick Spike up from the broken glass. "If you've really got to hang around, could you at least be helpful and grab some towels and the first aid kit from the bathroom?" I ask Dawn. She blinks but doesn't move, just stares at the charcoaled mess in my arms like she's in shock. Which I have to admit is fair. Spike's all crispy, like a hot dog that fell into the campfire.

Moving carefully, I set him down on the sofa. Pieces of him fall off as I move him. Not, like, arms and legs and stuff, but big chunks of carbonized meat falling off the bone and crunching ashily to the sofa and carpet. I'm fighting my gag reflex, but find momentary distraction in realizing his clothes have burnt off. How is he not dust? I swear, he and the roaches will be the only things left if world ever blows up.

Mom comes in right before I can snap at Dawn again. "Dawn, go get the first aid kit for your sister."

Magically, Dawn does as she is told. If something happens to Mom, how am I ever going to deal with Dawn? Gently, Mom hands me a mug of blood. "Is he going to be okay?" She asks as she crouches over Spike, caressing his face in a very motherly fashion.

I nod, "He just needs to feed. " This is so surreal. I'm crouching beside Spike, trying to wake him up so that he can feed. He's not moving, so I have to carefully lift his head and open his mouth. I have to pour the blood down his throat.

The small amount of pig's blood seemingly does nothing for his external injuries, and he still looks like a Stretch Armstrong doll set on fire by some mean little boy, but now his eyes have flicked open. That's a good sign, right? He's in game face, but given the condition of his skin, it's impossible to tell that until I see those sickly yellow eyes. They're not the normal intense gold of a hunting vampire, instead they're jaundiced looking, with whites the unpleasant beige of sour milk and irises fogged over with gray.

Normally, Spike's game face eyes are entirely too human for my peace of mind, save for the color. The gold eyes scream power, but they've never been animalistic. Not until now, when all I can think of when I look at him is a dog who's been hit by a car. The breath in the back of my throat burns, making my eyes Mom, and now Spike. Fuck, how am I supposed to do this, when people I care about keep getting hurt? Wait. Spike is someone I care about? No! In fact, a world of no! A world in which I am the mayor of "You've-gotta-be-kidding-me" Town. I don't care about him!

I hate him, everything about him! The too-human blue eyes that give away every single one of his lies. What kind of Big Bad can't lie? Fuck him! Oh and that stupid, cocky smirk that makes me feel all sorts of wrong. Bad guys should not have sexy smirks. Also, that baseball-helmet hair of his that I just want to mess up every time I see it. I swear, he and Angel have been supporting the hair gel industry for the last thirty years. But I especially hate that scar on his eyebrow, makes him seem all tough and bad. But, not bad like Angelus or the Master, more like cool bad. Oh, and don't get me started on his nose! Bastard! Concentrating on this is not of the good either, especially since it makes seeing him charbroiled even more upsetting. I mean unnerving.

I groan, more to myself to anyone else. "Spike, who the hell did you piss off?" The note of worry in my voice sounds strange when directed at Spike, but I can't seem to shake it. Whatever did this to him must be bad, like really dangerous bad. That's why I'm all worry-girl.

Spike can't help but gurgle something in reply. He really can't shut up, can he? And is he trying to glare at me? I shake my head and speak again, this time to mom. "Do we have any more blood?"

"No, sweetie," she answers, sounding regretful.

Thinking, I shift into slayer mode. Willy's will have blood, maybe even human blood, but I can't leave Spike here with Mom and Dawn. He's so out of it, he might go after anything with a heartbeat, chip be damned. Though it looks more likely that if he doesn't get more blood soon he might dissolve right into the carpet. God, how much injury can a vamp take without dusting? He's got to be pushing the limit, and if any more skin crumbles off him, I'm going to be sick. "Call Giles, maybe he'll have some blood." Unlikely, but watchers have kept stranger things around the house.

Dawn runs back into the living room, first aid kit and towels in hand. She asks, "Who did this to him?"

In my head I answer, 'Three blurs moving impossibly fast, even for vampires. ' But they were definitely vamps. I could feel it. Yet the idea of three vamps going after Spike twists my stomach in the wrong way. He's a master vampire; anything that could do this too him must be big.

I don't answer her, I just start cleaning Spike's wounds. "Dawn, you should go back upstairs. I can handle this." The antiseptic makes me wanna sneeze and can't help but to shift uncomfortably with those sickly yellow eyes watching me.

Dawn shakes her head. "No way," she pouts, sitting firmly on the sofa's armrest.

I groan and attempt to ignore her, focusing instead on bandaging the charred flesh. I can do it until I catch a glimpse of his face. Even his feral eyes look puzzled by my behavior, and I can't blame him. A few hours ago, I was cutting him to the quick in an alley. Guilt nags at me to fix this. How could I, though, when I'd spoken so harshly earlier, just to hurt him? I mummer apology while Dawn is distracted by mom's talking. Gently, I brush my fingers over his rough cheek. "I'm sorry about earlier... I was just mad about a lot of things. Mom, Glory, vampires getting a piece out of me… so I said the meanest thing that I could think of. And I shouldn't have."

It's weird, I never knew how expressive Spike's face was until now. His amber eyes don't seem as hard, and something has replaced that feral hate in them. Yep that's why I hate his eyes. There all with the confusing-ness. It's easier not to name the swirling things in Spike's eyes. After all, Spike is a monster. Why can't his eyes be like Angelus', all shark-ish and empty? It's so much easier to remember they're the enemy when their eyes are like that.

He's looking at me still waiting for the other shoes to drop. The remains of his normally handsome face contort in confusion. My stomach sinks as black ash drifts down at the small movement. God, he could really dust right here and I would never get my answers. He needs blood. There's no way around it. If he doesn't get it he will be dust. If he's dust then he won't be able to tell me what happened and who the new big bad is.

Is this a Glory problem? Or a new player? If it's a new player why attack Spike? Maybe it's an old enemy of Spike. Spike has lots of enemies. No, that can't be right. If this is an old enemy of Spike's, why send him through my window? Will this new player start going after people I actually care about? Fuck, could they go after Mom and Dawn, or will they stick to the unwritten rule that family is off-limits? There's just too many questions and not enough answers. There needs to be something I can do besides put burn cream on a corpse. Does burn cream even work on the undead? Did I just waste a tube of burn cream? Fuck! Too many questions!

When a light bulb goes off in my head, I squeak, "Drink." Quickly, I pull my hair to the unscarred side of my neck. I lean into Spike, offering the vampire my neck. Normally this would be unthinkable, but that was before everything with Mom happened. And he looks so... so not Spike and it's freaking me out. There are so many bad things in my life going on right now that I can't change. Mom could be really sick. Glory wants to shove my sister in a lock and give her twirl and I can't fix that... but I can fix this. Spike is savable. He needs to be saved. He has the answers about this new threat. It's practical. A few swallows of my blood is a quick way to heal him up enough to talk. Once he's stable I can go to Willy's and get more blood and pump the snitch for information. It's a workable plan, honest!

Flashes of Angel nearly killing me are dancing in my head. I shouldn't do this. If Angel, who loved me, lost control, then giving Spike my neck might as well be asking for my own death.

There are Spike's words again. 'And now you see, that's the secret. Not the punch you didn't throw or the kicks you didn't land. She merely wanted it.' And I want, not that, but I want to help him. I lean in a little closer, so that his burnt lips could touch my neck if he moved up an inch.

There's no fangs, no pain, only a gurgling sound and a brushing over my neck. I look into his eyes. Spike is refusing my blood! "You're not going to heal if you don't have blood, and we don't have any bagged blood on hand."

Spike gives me a seething stare that could rip me to shreds, rip the very skin off my bones, and the realization hits me. Words come tumbling out of my mouth. "I'm an idiot. The chip, you can't… I'm sorry." Careful not to injure him anymore, I lay his head back down. "Dawn, get me a knife."

Thoroughly confused, Dawn looks from me to Spike, and then to Mom on the phone in the kitchen. She looks back to me in seconds. It's like she doesn't understand the words that I'm saying, or maybe she just can't believe I could possibly be serious. "You would tell me if the world was ending, right?"

Okay... Fair enough question. Feeding my blood to my mortal enemy not my M.O, but I need to know what did this to Spike. From my experience, vampires flying through your window means that someone is definitely trying to send a message. Until I know who this message is for, I have to help Spike. Yes, that makes sense, that's entirely rational. "Dawn…" I repeat.

Dawn huffs. "Because, like, I definitely should not have to go to school tomorrow if the world is ending." But she gets me a knife without any more debate.

I roll my eyes with an 'as if' expression. "The world is not ending yet. Well, I don't think so, anyway." She hands me the knife as mom comes in.

"Mr. Giles isn't picking up," Mom reports, "so I left a message for him."

I huff. "That's... great."

She looks at the knife in my hand and frowns. "Do you have everything under control?"

I groan. "Yes, Mom. You and Dawn should go back to bed." Mom bites her bottom lip. It's one of her tells of when she's really worried. So I keep up the reassuring act, "Look, Mom, I know that Spike looks really bad - and yeah, me giving a little blood to the guy is majorly wiggy - but I have it under control." Spike snorts his disagreement. I glare down at him for interrupting. "I need to know what happened to him. My blood is the fastest way to heal him up enough for him to tell me what happened."

Mom is still with the worried glances, but she nods. "Okay, honey. I'm going to bed. Dawn, come on."

Dawn huffs an indignant, "Fine," as they exit the room.

I huff again, distracting myself from the pain as I run the knife along the fleshy part of my hand, below the thumb. The sharp sting of the knife makes me wince as blood wells up, beading on the skin, sliding toward my wrist. A vibrating kind of growl comes from Spike's chest as his eyes lock on the slowly welling stream. The feral sound makes my cheeks hot and pulls my mind to other times I've heard Spike growl, times I've tried to forget ever since Willow broke that stupid spell. I lower my bloody palm to his cracked lips. He doesn't take my hand right away, and it confuses me. This is what he has wanted for the last four years, and I am finally giving it to him. Why isn't he taking it?

Embarrassed, I squeak, "Open up."

Reluctantly, he follows my command, parting the charred remains of his lips. Before I can lose my nerve, I squeeze the gash on my hand until it starts to drip blood directly into his waiting mouth. I feel a little like a mother bird, which just increases the surreality of the situation. It's not long before he starts to suck on the wound, sending a bizarre jolt of pleasure up my spine. Definitely not going to analyze that.

It's strange how fast a perfectly controlled situation can and will flip on you. One minute I'm watching in slightly sick fascination as Spike's charred skin crumbles off to be replaced by a smooth alabaster layer. The next thing I know, a bony hand grabs my wrist. The sudden and unexpected motion has me wrenching backward to free myself from Spike's steel grip, unintentionally pulling him on top of me. His strength is startling, but I'm also trying not to undo all the healing he's just done, which makes things more complicated.

He has me pinned, one hand holding me in place while the other holds my wrist to his mouth. His tongue dances desperately over the long gash across my palm, lapping up the blood like a dog, a kind of cute dog. If not for the clicks and pops of bone knitting itself back together, the cool strokes of his tongue would be almost erotic.

Oh God... I am fucked up. Must retreat from the vampire's lips.

Oddly enough, I don't need to struggle; Spike seals the wound on my hand with one last flick of his tongue. His yellow eyes have returned to blue, and he seems to be back to the old, unburny Spike.

Gracelessly, I rip my hand away from Spike's grasp. I should buck him off me, but he's giving me the oddest look, not unlike the one in the alley before I crushed him. If I didn't know better, I would say that the look is somewhere between awe and love…

But that's not true, of course. Spike is a monster. I gave my blood to a monster, and now he's never going to let me forget. Fuck. Damn confusing emotions.

For a moment, we just stare at each other. Even with most of the burns gone he's still all black and blue. I can't help but think he looks like one of those hideous modern art paintings Mom has up in the gallery every so often, which is funny in a morbid "been the slayer way too long" kind of way. God, his eyes are so blue. Who did this? I can't think of anyone besides Glory and myself who'd be strong enough to take him on. Unless it was humans? Riley? No, even if Riley were here, he wouldn't be capable of this sort of torture. Anyway, those were vamps outside my house, and they don't normally work for humans.

As if this night could get any weirder, Spike suddenly ups the ante by leaning down and giving me a soft kiss. It's a sort of chaste thing, more of a gentle dusting of his lips against my own. Strange... the move was so tender so... so un-Spike like it's scary. And disarming. Automatically my mouth just opens a little wider letting the kiss deepen. It's funny he's the one to break the kiss before he nuzzles into the crook of my neck. Shit, not again... This... Spike pressed against me like this should revolt me. Damn it, it just doesn't. My breath seems to catch in the same way that it had when Angel kissed me a lifetime ago.

No... not like Angel. Angel feelings and Spike feelings, so non-mixy. In fact, feelings and Spike are entirely non-mixy things. Before I can push him off me, Spike beats me to the punch and stumbles to his feet. I follow suit, and watch his bare, bitable ass get covered up with one of the towels on the sofa.

Then, a horrifying realization dawns on me: I just let Spike, for the last fifteen minutes, straddle me naked. Oh God, what's going on with me tonight?! Or is it morning now? Morning, Mom, testing! Mom has all of those medical-y tests to do today... in a few hours. All sexy Spike thoughts immediately fly from my head, and I'm not sorry to see them go.

I need to figure out why Spike was sent through my window, and I need to be there for mom and Dawn. Maybe I should try to call Giles again, and he can bring Spike some clothes and do the whole interrogation bit.

Spike still looks like he's half a corpse. Okay, I guess he's a whole corpse, no pulse and all that - but more so now. His skin is waxy pale where it's not still livid with bruises, and his eyes are both blackened, making his face seem hollow and skeletal. My mouth opens and closes, and I am at a loss for what to say.

Spike breaks the growing awkwardness with a crooked smile. "So, the Slayer gets off on playing naughty nurse with the big bad vampire. Got to file that away for later." Snarky comments and bluster from Spike put me at ease, despite the rasp in his voice. Snarky, obnoxious Spike is much easier to handle than sexy Spike.

He's sitting on the sofa, pinning me with those too-human eyes. I scoff my reply. "You're a pig, Spike." Internally, I choke back my lusty Buffy urges and shoot him a poisonous stare that would break most men. Arms folded and tone indifferent, I add, "And you know, you're awful mouthy for someone who was smoke barbecue just an hour ago."

Trying to look anywhere but at Spike, I focus on the broken glass on the floor. The sun is starting to creep into the living room. It hasn't quite touched the sofa yet, but it will, in time. I glance back to Spike. Why does someone so evil have to be muscle-y and gorgeous? I groan to myself and try to focus. "Okay. You need clothes and... rest. And I need to clean up this glass before Mom wakes up, and I have to take her to the hospital-"

Spike cuts me off and launches to his feet quickly, trying to close the distance between us, but the sun keeps him away. "What's wrong with Joyce?" he demands with a strange intensity in his eyes, which are still far too human for my comfort.

The story comes tumbling recklessly out of my mouth, even as I find myself scooting closer to him. "Mom might be sick... She keeps getting headaches and they need to do tests." My voice sounds weak to my own ears, so I swallow down the fear and focus on the situation at hand. "So here's what's going to happen. You're going to the basement to rest. Giles or I will come by later to bring your clothes, and you can explain all about how you came to be tossed through my window. 'Kay?"

Either too tired or actually sympathetic to my situation, Spike agrees without much debate. Soon he's in the basement and I'm on the phone. Giles finally picks up on the second ring. Where the hell was he thirty minutes ago? "Giles, hey, we kind of have a situation here. Someone decided it would be a good idea to char-boil Spike and toss him through my window."

I can almost hear the squeak of Giles cleaning his glasses. "Good lord. Why?"

I shrug, knowing that he can't see it. "I don't know. I thought that while I'm at the hospital with Mom and Dawn you could figure that part out."

Giles sighs. "Of course. But Buffy, are you sure this is something we need to concern ourselves with at the moment? We have our hands full with Glory."

I agree, for the most part. "Yeah, but for all we know this could be Glory saying howdy."

"Spike has quite the list of enemies around Sunnydale, most of whom would be more than happy to set Spike on fire." Giles reminds me, obviously hoping to get out of Spike duty.

"Most of Spike's enemies wouldn't throw him through my window," I insist. "So I think that bears looking into!"

"Fine." he sighs in that peculiarly Watchery put-upon way.

Chirping a little, I add, "Great. Oh yeah, you also need to swing by his crypt and pick up some clothes for him."

Giles, annoyed, concedes. "Right, of course I will. Did you see who threw him?"

I bite my lip, thinking about the blond bitch in Spike's duster. "Yeah... Three vamps, but I only got a good look at one, some trashy blonde girl wearing Spike's duster." I pause for a moment before adding, "Giles, these signatures felt different. It was like ice running down my neck. Does that mean anything?" Another squeak of his glasses cleaning puts me on edge. Why won't he just answer the question? Fuck I hate long pauses.

The soothing melodic tone of Giles' voice cuts through my internal tangent. "It could mean many things, I suppose. Let me look into it."

Not exactly what I was hoping to hear. Sucking in a breath, I end my call anyway. Mom has snuck up on me in the kitchen. Her arms are filled with pillows, blankets, and old grey maternity sweat pants with one of Dad's old Gun's and Rose's T-shirt. Wow, I'd forgotten she stole that from him after he cleared his stuff out. It was the only shirt he left that she didn't burn on sight. It's nice to know I got my pyro tendencies from someone in the family.

Mom smiles, "Hey, honey. I brought some stuff for our house guest. What did Mr. Giles say about our late night visitors?"

Frowning I explain, "He doesn't know. But I think it might have something to do with our new Baddy."

Mom sighs wistfully, "Never a dull moment is there? Where is Spike?"

I take the stuff from her hands and try to pull off an air of nonchalance. "Down in the basement. I'll bring that stuff to him. I'm sure he'll appreciate it."


	4. Snake in the Shadow

Snake in the Shadow

Buffy

Chapter four

Waiting must be one of those levels in hell no one talks about. God, I hate this. There is nothing to do. There is nothing to change because everything that could be done is being done. You're just sitting, or in my case pacing, trying to keep it together while internally panicking. Because there has to be at least one person to keep it together. Mom might be really sick, dad's not here, and Dawn... God, she's so young. She gets to be the one to fall apart. It must be nice not to have to keep the brave face on and only worry about mom right now. The life of a slayer is never quite so simple. Mystery vampires and super strong demon women are nagging at me on top of all the things that could be wrong with mom. Shit, I think I might go crazy in this drab room. I can't wait another second staring at insipid paintings of flowers and outdated issues of People magazine.

I suck in a breath trying to organize my thoughts. Maybe I should call Giles and see if he's gotten around to questioning Spike about my late night visitors. Or maybe he'll have some information about frizzy haired Demon Bitch. At least I wouldn't be just waiting if I called him. I hate waiting. With one last look at Dawn I let my feet carry me to the phones only to have my eyes roam over to exam room three. That's the one mom's in. Maybe I could go in for a bit and see what's going on. She has to be done with the CAT scan by now. Swallowing a lump in my throat I change route to the grey green door; just before I can push it open, Riley swings in. My stomach drops with dread. I know I didn't tell Giles to keep mom's testing hush, hush but I didn't want anyone to know before I knew. You know? I definitely didn't want my smothering boyfriend to come in and tell me everything is going to be okay. Because it might not be okay. And I don't want someone to comfort me. I need to be strong for Dawn.

Yet, I lean into his embrace playing my part of the normal girlfriend happy to see her man. But he's too much right now and I feel all the air leave my body when he's here. Even as he's holding me, his large arms wrapping around me tight... too tight. I can't help but compare him to Angel. Like when Angel would walk in and I would feel my heart race and my brain would stop and I felt the whole world pause because he was there for me. God, that's mushy and kinda pathetic, looking back on it now.

But with Riley, he walks into the room it's like he's sucking me up and I have to put on an act and don't get me wrong, I wanna put on the act because, I think I love him. I should love him? But sometimes there's just nothing and then that nothing turns to guilt because I know he loves me. Maybe this is what grown up love feels like. Nothing? Love shouldn't be like one bad drama. Fuck, shouldn't it feel like something too? God, I don't know and I really don't wanna be dealing with that right now.

So, my eyes close and I burry my face in his broad chest. Trying to take comfort in the fact he's solid. He says to me, "Sorry, I heard. I thought you might need..."

I stop him before he can finish. I don't want to hear what he thinks I need. I feel myself reply, "I do, I do I'm glad." Soon I am looking up into those brown eyes. They are so warm and kind. Angel's eyes were never warm or kind. They were always lost, tortured, and lonely. And when he was Angelus there was nothing in them besides hate. Fuck, why am I comparing him to Angel? That's wrong. That's bad girlfriending 101. No comparing of the boyfriends. He wants to take care of me and that is sweet and he loves me.

His lips press down on top of my head, drawing my mind back to cooler lips that don't belong to Angel. I'm such a bad girlfriend. Not only did I let Spike kiss me, I liked it, and deepened it. I close my eyes and stammer, "I just, hmm, I... I didn't want... er, until we knew..."

His fingers brush my hair behind my ears and he nods understandingly. Even though he doesn't understand, but he's a good guy and so he says, "I understand. How's she doing?"

And that's the million dollar question that I don't have the answer to. "She just had the CAT scan and I was about to find out." He needs something to do. Something to make him feel helpful. Like he means something to me. And that's the reason why I didn't tell anyone besides Giles and Spike. Okay, Spike only knows because he flew through my window, but at least he's not going to swagger over and try to help when he's not wanted. Well, maybe he would. The kiss thing is throwing me off a bit. But the sun, broken bones, and sorta mortal enemies thing is keeping him at bay. And Riley is right here, waiting for orders like a good soldier. Trying my best to look grateful I give him something to do, "Could you keep an eye on Dawn while I go and find out?"

A flash of disappointment crosses his face but it's gone in a second, "Right... Okay. Whatever you need."

"Thank you," I hear myself say before spinning away to see mom.

The room is too dark, and mom and the doctor look grim. "Hey, Mom... can I come in?" Dread is crawling up my throat as I look at the scans on the light board.

"Yeah, sure baby, come in." They don't make much sense to me but Mom is looking at them like the world has just ended. She at me now and I want to cry, but I don't. Strong. I need to be strong. "Where's Dawn?" She asks.

I reply, uncertain of anything, "Uh, she's with Riley, watching TV." I hear something about an OR as the balding doctor leaves the room to give me and mom privacy. "OR?" I question, my voice becoming small.

Mom's nervous. I can hear it in her voice while she's trying to be reassuring. "Doctor Isaac says I am lucky there's one available on such a short notice. Some people wait weeks... even months for the OR."

Voice still small I ask, "What did they find?"

She sounds so unlike mom. Her voice is distant, a heavy whisper in the air, "A shadow. I got a shadow somewhere." And I wanna stagger back like I just got hit by a Fyral demon. But mom is still talking and I need to hear this. No running for Buffy, "There going to do a biopsy." A biopsy; that's when they stick a long needle into whatever is affected and try to figure out what's wrong. They're going to stick a needle into my mom's brain to figure out what's wrong with her. Meaning they still don't know anything. God, I'm going to be sick. "It's still too early to be concerned... We don't know anything yet." Mom's voice is cracking and I feel like I just got slashed by the shards.

We hug - it's the only thing to do in the circumstance, and I try not to cry. Crying would not be good right now. Mom needs to be able to break down. And she can't if I'm weeping like a child. I put on a tight smile, "Right, still too early. No Concern."

In a few moments they're wheeling mom to the OR. Dawn is awake and asking questions, "Where are they taking mom?"

Gently, I explain, "They're going to do a biopsy. Th-there's a shadow." Riley wraps an arm around me, while Dawn launches at me. I hug Dawn, breaking away from Riley. My shirt is wet from silent tears and I kiss her on the top of the head. I rub her back and tell her, "It's okay, Dawnie. We don't know anything yet. It's way too early to be freaking out." After a long moment of tears and reassuring, Dawn goes back to her chair and we watch TV. And wait. God, there is too much waiting going on here. Riley is desperately trying to help by holding my hand and stopping my pacing. But it's not helping. And I feel like he's intruding, like only Dawn and I should be here in this waiting hell. For that, I want to yell at him and tell him to go away, but that would be wrong. He loves me and wants to help, but he can't.

After hours of waiting Doctor Isaac comes out. Dawn is sleeping and Riley just put his jacket on top of her. It's sweet and normal. He tries to follow me when he sees that I am heading over to the doctor. With a look, I still his feet and keep going. Doctor Isaac has bad news face and I suddenly just want to run away. He starts to talk but all I hear is brain tumor. As he goes on, my brain translates everything back to brain tumor with a fancy Latin name that means something awful. He won't shut up. He's asking all these stupid questions that I don't have answers to. Dad should be here. Dad would know the answers to whatever questions Doctor Clueless is asking.

By some miracle, a cute intern tells Doctor Isaac he is needed somewhere else. He gives me one of those sympathetic smiles, "I thought you could use a break. The guy is great but he doesn't get social cues. You know. I'm Ben by the way."

I nod, still in my own world, "Buffy. Nice to meet you." absently I say, "H-he said there was nothing I could do."

Ben nods a little too cheerfully, "Yeah, and I'm going to say the same thing. There's nothing you can do. So you should go. You mom is going to be out of it for a while. Come back later this evening and we should know more. There you go, all my unsolicited advice for the day."

I nod, "Thanks. You're right. I should go." I walk back over to Riley. He scoops me up in a hug. "It's bad, Riley. Really bad."

He looks at me, gently rubbing my shoulders, whispers in my ear, "It's okay. It's all going to be okay."

The words ring hollow and I feel sick. I wanna shout and tell him he doesn't know that. That the doctor told me she only has a one in three shot of making it. How the hell could this be okay? But my lips stay silent and I back away.

He's still desperate to be needed and it makes me ill. "Buffy, is there anything I can do?"

The need to scream 'no there's nothing for you to fix' pulls at my tongue but I suppress the need. Instead, I give him a task, "Could you take Dawn to school? I gotta talk to Giles." Maybe there's a healing spell or something.

Once again, that kicked puppy look that screams his disappointment loud and clear crosses his face. But he's trying to be the good guy and says, "Of course, anything you need."

I wake up Dawn and tell her mom's still in recovery and she won't wake up until later. "Riley's going to take you to school."

Instantly, Dawn whines, "Do I really have to go to school?"

There is no way she'll be able to focus on 'To Kill a Mockingbird' or whatever else she has to study. It's the same reason I'm ditching my philosophy class. Nevertheless, I hear myself say, "Mom wants you to go to school. You are already going to be late. Please, don't make this harder."

She sighs, "Fine."

I hug her, "Thank you. We'll meet up at the Magic Box after school and come right back here, okay?"

Dawn agrees and soon we separate. The Magic shop seems like the best place to find Giles but I still don't know what to say to him or the Scoobies who will be there researching our demon bitch. I walk for a long time putting my thoughts in order. Mom is sick. Mom might die. There's nothing I can do but read stupid pamphlets. No, that can't be right. There has to be a spell or something! That thought pushes me faster to the Magic Box and I storm in, nearly taking the bell off the door. Anya is behind the cash register, Willow and Tara are reading books, while Xander munches on a donut. At my dramatic entrance, all heads turn to face me. I go over to the research table. "Where's Giles?"

Willow answers, "He's looking for Spike. Buffy what's wrong?"

"What do you mean he's looking for Spike? Spike's at my house?" I wanna stomp my foot and pout that Giles isn't here when I need him.

Xander explains, getting up from his spot. "He wasn't there. I went over with Giles to fix the window and Spike was gone. We think he might have just taken off. So Giles went to look for him." He tries to guide me to his vacated chair. "Buffy, what's the matter?"

I want to stand, so I pull away from Xander. "I need a healing spell for mom," I blurt out looking at the group, suddenly very tired. The story of mom's brain tumor comes out in waves, and by the end of it I want to hit something.

Willow is on her feet, giving me a hug, "We'll look for something but I don't think magic is the answer, Buffy."

I wipe away a few stray tears and shake my head, "There has to be something."

Tara gently explains, "Natural illness can't be fix by supernatural means. There are always consequences that could make everything a lot worse." She's right and I know it, but it doesn't make it easier. If not for the fact Tara's like a scared little rabbit most of the time, I would tell her to go to hell. But she's so sweet I can't be mad at her.

Anya pipes in, playing with the petals of a white lily, "Besides, we've reached are quota of making things worse today."

Xander and Willow pale at the off handed comment. Instantly, Xander tries to cover it up, "Oh, Anya - Buffy doesn't need to hear about our little fight about ex-boyfriends sending you flowers."

Anya looks confused, "Huh? I wasn't talking about your gaping insecurity, I was-"

Willow cuts her off, "Yeah Anya, Buffy has a lot going on. She doesn't need to hear about some ex demon thing."

I sigh, "Spill?"

Xander explains, "Glory got a hold of some magical doohickey that can bring to life some giant lizard thing".

Fuck, that's not of the good at all. "How? What did she get? Is everyone alright?"

Willow smiles guiltily, "It was the Khul's Amulet and Sobekian bloodstone. And the good news - everyone is fine. No one got hurt at all."

Confusion slips into my features, "Then how did she get it?"

Anya answers, "Willow sold it to her. Without Giles' permission."

I swear, Willow's voice jumps five octaves, "Giles asked me to help with the store and, and I thought it was a fake. Plus, how was I to know that girl was Glory?!"

There's no time to be pissed, "This thing makes lizard monsters, right? Does this lizard thing just appear, or do they need an actual lizard?"

Tara stutters, "Sh-sh-she'll need an a-a-animal first."

"Right, guess who's going to the zoo,?" I groan.

Xander tries to stop me, "Buffy, maybe you should wait a moment. Come up with a plan or something."

I shake my head, "No, I need to find this snake thing first."

Willow tries to help Xander, "Yeah, don't you wanna check it with Giles first.? Maybe he'll have some information about this thing."

There both trying to stall. It won't work. "I got to do this."

Chapter End Notes:

Big thanks to all who read this. Especially AnnaH who edited this chapter for me. Next chapter should up sometime after thanksgiving. Please tell me what you think. construtive cristim is always helpful.


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